


In Search of Fields So Green

by Safiyabat



Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU - Medieval, AU - Vikings, F/M, Megstiel - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-20
Updated: 2016-02-20
Packaged: 2018-05-22 06:01:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6067822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Safiyabat/pseuds/Safiyabat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Meg's band of Vikings aren't just looking to raid Anglia.  They're looking to build a kingdom of their own.  Castiel is a warrior looking to defend the Anglo-Saxon kingdom.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Special thanks to my beta, twitter user SamgirlEli!

Meg squatted by the fire and surveyed the map her two advisors had drawn in the dirt.  “You don’t think they know we’re here already?” she asked, tilting her head to look up at the brothers.  She brushed her hand across the glass beads at her throat, a nervous gesture she barely noticed anymore.

Meg’s fighters fidgeted in the shadows, clustered on the edges of the firelight.  They didn’t like that she’d brought the brothers in.  The brothers were Danes, while Meg and her crew hailed from Kvenland.  They had the inherent distrust of outsiders, which could be overcome if it weren’t for the rumors.  Oh, there were rumors about those brothers.  Meg had heard them all.  Some of them were even true.

The rumors just didn’t matter.  These brothers could help her take down Anglia and give her people a home.  She could become a queen, a high king in her own right.  They could consort with monsters all they wanted, as long as she got a crown out of the deal.

Dean glanced up at Sam, who gave him a nod that even Meg could barely see in the gloom of the firelight.  Only when he’d gotten the go-ahead from the younger brother did Dean give his trademark smirk and explain.  “The Anglians might be able to see the light from our fires,” he drawled, “but trust me, they’re not thinking about it.  They’ve written them off as just another village.  We’re close enough to that clutch of shepherds we overtook last week that they’ll just write it off.”

One of Meg’s karls snorted.  “You’re awfully certain.”

Dean’s eyes narrowed.  “I am.  I’ve spent a bit of time among the bastards.  You might have heard a little bit about that.  I know just how much attention they’ve paid to the towns and villages under their protection.”  He snorted and shook his head.  “It’s a wonder that no one’s carried their sheep off sooner, honestly.”

“Don’t you think that someone might have gotten away and told them we were coming?”   Another of Meg’s karls crossed his arms across his chest.  “I understand that you’ve spoken to them, lived among them, but you can’t expect us to believe that none of their landsmen would get away.”

Sam shook his head, silent and looming just over his brother’s shoulder.  Meg let her lips curl into a little smile.  She didn’t want to know how Sam knew that no one had survived, but if he said no one had then no one had.  She’d seen him come back and carefully clean his knife off, and she’d seen a few extra weapons added to their supplies the next day, but that was as much evidence as she had.   “I’m confident that we’ve taken all of the captives that were available to take,” she told her men.  “You’re all strong and fierce warriors.  I trust you.  Now.  Let’s focus on the task at hand: getting into the citadel.  We can’t conquer Anglia if we can’t take their haven, after all.”

The rumbling of assent that went around the crowd brought a little grin of contentment to Meg’s face.  She could see Sam visibly relax, and Dean seemed to melt into his brother’s shadow as well.  They didn’t touch, but Dean leaned so close he could probably feel Sam’s warmth.

“I’m not seeing any real vulnerabilities here, guys.”  Meg frowned at their sketch.  “From what I’m seeing we can send everything we have against them and they can sit back and dump boiling pitch and privy waste on us all day.”

Sam grinned, flashing white teeth and those dimples that showed so rarely, and pointed with a stick to a little mark he’d made in the sketch.  “There’s a stream that comes out right here.”  His voice sounded a little hoarse, long disused.  “It’s not huge; probably wide enough to get two men abreast.”

Meg mentally adjusted that calculation to three; the brothers seemed to forget that normal people weren’t built to their scale.  “Is that how you got out?”

Sam’s eyes flashed at the reminder of his captivity.  Dean scowled, but Sam put a hand on his shoulder.  “It is.  They have no idea that it’s even there.”

Dean shook his head.  “I guess it’s for the best.  I mean, it worked out for us.  All I’m saying is that I wouldn’t let anyone get away with running such a shoddy operation.”

“Right?”  Meg snorted.  “How do you know that they haven’t tightened things up?”

Sam looked up and met her eyes.  “They haven’t.”

The men rumbled for a moment.  This was another of the rumors about the brothers, or rather about Sam.  He probably wasn’t a full-blown _seidman_ , at least not that Meg could figure out, but he’d take whatever advantages he could get and he wasn’t concerned about social taboos.  At least, he hadn’t been since he’d gotten away from Anglia the first time.  If he said that the Anglians hadn’t found that vulnerability and taken care of it, then they hadn’t, and she probably didn’t want to know any more about how he knew.  The men were uncomfortable with it, but they could be uncomfortable until the day was won.  Then they’d be singing the praises of Sam’s deep cunning and wisdom until Jormungandr devoured the world.

“Alright.  What do you say – tomorrow?”  She grinned again.  “I’ve never liked waiting.”

“Gives us a chance to get the crops in,” nodded Tom, one of Meg’s karls.

Dean gave another of his trademark smirks, this one mirrored by his brother.  “Tomorrow is one of their holy days.”  He stretched his arms out in front of him, just like a cat.  “Among their kind, they would never think of attacking on a holy day.  They won’t be expecting us; it will be like lambs to the slaughter.”

Sam closed his eyes and shook his head a little bit.  “Not quite.  They will fight.  Other Vikings have attacked settlements along the coast, whether it was to find trade materials or to find a permanent home.  They won’t be expecting us, but they know that we exist and they’ll be feeling nervous.”  He grinned, slow and wicked.  “We’ll win, eventually.  I just want everyone to go in at the top of their form.  It only takes one farmer with a well-placed pitchfork to ruin your day.”

Meg nodded, turning her eyes toward her karls.  “I couldn’t have said it better myself.  They can call for reinforcements, if we let any of them get away.  We can’t, which means that I don’t want to lose more of you than I absolutely have to.  Let’s head to bed.  We’ll make our first push in the morning.”

The men all nodded and headed toward their tents.  With any luck they wouldn’t need to stay in tents for much longer.  They could build halls and live as they were meant to, with room to move and to breathe.  Meg loved her father, and she’d been a loyal daughter.  She still was.  That was why her father had sent her away, with this handful of good and true men.  Her father’s kingdom simply couldn’t support so many.

She grabbed Sam’s arm before he could retreat to his tent and brought him a little way away from the fire.  Dean frowned, but said nothing.  It was the right of the jarl to speak privately with her lieutenants, after all.  She rolled her eyes.  Dean bristled whenever anyone got close to Sam, as though his brother was some kind of delicate flower, when Sam was a fierce and fearsome warrior in his own right.  “Sam, tell me,” she said.  “I get that we’re going in through that stream under the walls, but the entire approach is wide open.  I don’t buy for a minute that they’ll be giving their sentries the day off just because it’s some kind of a holy day.”

Sam gave the shy little smile that melted hearts everywhere.  “We’re only sending about a quarter of the men through the tunnel.”

Meg scowled.  “Okay we’ve still got the same problem, and do you think you might have told me about that a little before tonight’s meeting?”

Sam bobbed his head from side to side.  “Not really.”  His shoulders loosened up a little.  “I hadn’t been sure that I could pull this off before the meeting, but I found a _seidkona_ who was willing to help.  After a little persuasion.”

Meg closed her eyes.  “Did you torture her?”

“What?  No!”  He hung his head, long hair obscuring his face a little.  “I mean sure, she’s not exactly here voluntarily.  But she’s not a big fan of the Anglians either.  I promised her that when we win she’ll get to live in freedom and peace.  That’s all.”

Meg glared.  “That’s all?”

“That’s all.”  Sam held up his hands.  “Anyway.  She’s going to hide those of us going through the tunnel as we approach the outlet.  Not that I expect them to be keeping a close eye on the outlet, but it doesn’t hurt to be cautious.  Once we’re inside, while the enemy is at their prayers, we take out the sentries and throw open the gates.”

Meg nodded, in spite of herself.  It seemed like a solid plan, in spite of the fact that Sam had evidently abducted a _seidkona_ in order to make the plan work.  “You’re sure you can trust this woman?”

“No.  But she’s got plenty of motivation to do right by us.  The Anglians have hurt her, more than once, and she wants revenge on them more than she dislikes the chains.”  Sam shrugged.  “She’ll get over it.”

Meg shook her head.  Sometimes she wondered about Sam’s moral compass.  “It’s your funeral, I suppose.  Okay.  I’ll see you in the morning, I suppose.”

Sam gave her a slight bow, just enough to count as polite, and they parted ways.  Meg retreated to her own tent and lay down on her camp bed, almost too excited to sleep.  Only the knowledge that she needed to be at the top of her game helped her to find slumber.

Sam came to wake her the next morning, before the sun rose.  He brought Meg’s squire with him, to help her into her armor.  It wasn’t that she couldn’t put her own armor on, of course, but it went faster and more smoothly with help, and what good were rank or command if they didn’t come with a few privileges?   When she was finished she emerged to find the rest of the men ready and waiting, just as eager for the day’s battle as she was.

She explained the change in plan to the men, which they accepted without complaint.  The time for questioning and objecting had been yesterday.  Today they would follow, and happily.  She assigned a quarter of the men to Sam’s squad, choosing men who were known for their stealth and ambiguous morals.  She tried to choose men who kept their judgments about Sam and the rumors about him to themselves, but that wasn’t always possible.  Instead she made it clear that Sam spoke in her stead and insubordination against him was insubordination against her.  The consequences would be the same.

After that, the two squads split up.  Dean sulked at being separated from his brother, but he did his job.  Meg led her karls through the woods toward the citadel at Haven, smiling privately as the raiders fell into a rhythmic march together.  Her heart beat in time with their footfalls.  This was it.  They were going to get the kingdom they deserved.  They were going to have a home.  Her men could raise their families, have herds and crops to call their own.  They would owe it all to Meg.  She would be their queen, like Aud the Deep-Minded.

And, of course, there would be loot.  Silver, jewels, livestock and fine fabrics – they would have more plunder than they knew what to do with.  Her ships – and they would be _her_ ships, not her father’s – would carry the excess to far-off Byzantium and to Rus, where they would trade for fine silks and dyes and for spices.  Meg would be a rich queen indeed.

But first there would be fighting.  Some didn’t care for fighting; saw it as a necessary evil.  Meg didn’t like to waste resources, didn’t like to see her men risk themselves without cause, but she couldn’t deny that she loved a good fight.  She loved the feeling that came to her as she swung her sword, or her axe, and saw her enemies falling before her.  She loved the physicality of it, the sheer pleasure of motion and exertion.  She loved the competition, the knowing who was better.

And she loved the fierce pride that burned within her at the end of the day, to stand over her foes and to know that _she_ had been the one to take them down.  There was no feeling in the world that quite compared to that.  No mead, no matter what herbs or powders the brewer mixed into it, could make her blood sing in quite the same way.  Some people might have said that this was a moral failing on her part, but Meg knew better.

None of this detracted from the real consternation she felt as they approached the citadel at Haven.  Meg and Sam had timed their approach so that Meg and her band _should_ have arrived just as Sam was ready to throw open the gates.  Something could have happened to throw the plans off, though.  Anything could have happened.  They could have found the way impassable.  Sam could have been wrong about finding the way in unguarded.

The men hesitated.  Meg inhaled.  “Where’s Sammy?” Dean asked her, standing at Meg’s left hand.

The gates creaked open, slow and loud.  Sam stood in the middle of the doorway, armor bloody, axe held in his hands and a wide grin dimpling his cheeks.  Beside him stood a red-haired woman, so tiny that she made Meg feel like a giant herself.

The redhead glared up at Sam.  “Alright, quit your preening, Giant.  There’s plenty of Anglians need killing, and your axe is still plenty sharp.”  Her words were cross and harsh, but Meg could see the hint of a grin playing about the corners of her mouth.

The Norsemen surged in, and the attack was on.  Meg ran at their head, yelling defiance as she raced over the threshold into the little city.

The Anglians stumbled out of their temple, startled and confused.  Most of the peasants turned around and ran right back into their house of worship, having nothing with which to fight the invaders.  Meg couldn’t blame them, and if they accepted a life in thrall to her she would spare their lives.  A few others, rough looking but armed, struggled against the tide of peasants and managed to fight their way to the front of the crowd.  These few were armed, although not well, and Meg had to assume that they were freemen of some kind.  They had something to lose.

Meg’s men cut their way through this rabble like cutting through tallow.  They were not professionals.  It wasn’t even like a training fight.  For a little while, maybe twenty minutes, Meg thought that Sam must have been wrong, that the Anglians hadn’t mounted any kind of a defense.

That was when the other shoe dropped.  Approximately thirty men charged down the town’s widest street, with better armor than Meg had seen on Saxons in any of her prior raids and with better arms, too.  These, then, would be the nobles.  If there had been any doubt, the snarl of hate on Sam’s face would have sealed it.  He turned around and charged into the fray, oblivious as to anything going on around him.

The redheaded _seidkona_ stamped her foot.  “Oooh!  He didn’t tell me he’d turn into a raging beast with no provocation!”  She raised her hand and let loose a stream of sparkling, purple light, which settled around Sam as he dove into the battle.  Then she snapped her fingers and flew up to a high tree branch, safe from the worst of the battle.

Meg couldn’t spare the time to wonder about the _seidkona_ ’s comment.  She had her own issues to consider.  These new additions were worthy opponents, trained warriors who clearly had little to do with their time but train and fight.  She had to think as she fought them, parrying blows with her sword as often as she delivered them.  This, _this_ was a good fight.  This was how things were meant to be, not simply slaughtering civilians and taking new thralls.

The fighting raged for a while.  The defenders put on a good show, but there was only so much that they could do.  Meg was determined to have the place, and Sam could only have been stopped if the earth itself had opened and swallowed him.  Possibly not even then.  One by one, the Anglian warriors fell, either wounded or dead.  Finally, Meg, Dean and Sam caught the last few holdouts in a corner near the stables.  “You can surrender, here and now,” Meg offered, as Sam snarled.  “Or you can die.”

Dean put himself in between Sam and their prisoners.  He’d lived among the Anglians, until they’d wronged Sam.  He knew them.  “Our Jarl will offer you a much better deal than you’ve offered your captives in the past.”

“We are human,” spat one of them, with dark hair and eyes.  “Your brother is an abomination, and a regicide beside.”

It took all of Dean’s strength to hold Sam back, but he managed to restrain his brother without letting the strain show in his voice.  “Abomination?  That’s a new one.  But if he can kill your king and his brother so easily, imagine what he can do to you.”  He smirked.

One of the other prisoners just sighed and shook his head.  “Ion? Shut up.” He lay his sword down and squinted at his followers, who swallowed and followed suit. “We’ll surrender, if you promise to keep us safe from the Abomination.”

Meg frowned. “You’re entitled to think of Sam however you see fit, but you’re not allowed to call him anything like that.” She turned to Sam. “I assume they have someplace to lock these people?”

Sam’s responding grin was savage. “I’ll see to it.”

Dean coughed. “Maybe I’d better take care of that, little brother.” He whistled for a handful of men to give him a hand, and the prisoners were bustled away.

Sam took a deep breath, and the visible rage disappeared. Meg knew him too well to think it had gone away; he was just locking it down. It wasn’t her problem. He could be as angry as he wanted, as long as he did his job. Calmer now, he walked over to where the _seidkona_ had treed herself and held out his hands.

The redhead jumped down, landing as delicately in his huge hands as though disembarking from a ship. “Why Samuel, they hate you more than they hate me.” She smirked. “Abomination?  Is this about that rumor that your father’s a frost giant?”

“Shut up, Rowena.” He took a deep breath as Rowena looked smug. “Something’s not right here, Meg.”

“Well, most of the town is still standing, but given that we’d decided that we were taking over and not just destroying it I think that’s okay.” She blinked at him. “What’s your issue now?”

“It was an okay fight, sure, but those were just… they were the rank-and-file soldiers.  Noble, but not the higher nobility. Castiel was the highest ranking Anglian among them.” Sam grimaced and took off his helmet, releasing his hair. “It’s… I mean, yes, I hate them and they hate me, but they’re not the ones…”

“They’re not the ones who hurt the poor little giant,” Rowena tutted. “No, I agree. I didn’t see Raphael here. I didn’t see Uriel, either, nor the toad monk Zachariah.” She shook her head and put a hand on Sam’s arm. “I think that you should consider having a little chat with your jailbirds, don’t you?”

Meg glared. “You do realize you’re not a jarl?” She cleaned her sword. “You’re right, though. We should probably talk to them. But not today,” she added, turning around. “Today we sort out living arrangements. I get the lord’s house; was it Raphael’s? Sam, I suppose that the chances of you and Dean separating are about as likely as the sun rising in the west.”

Rowena snorted. “Because that’s healthy.”

Sam ignored her. “We can stay together if he wants.” He looked down and away. “It’s up to him, really.”

Meg rolled her eyes. Maybe it was a little creepy, but it wasn’t her problem. “Okay, whatever.  You can take their temple for your hall. However the karls want to divide the rest up.”

The important work for the rest of the day came next. Haven had loot, although not as much as Meg would have expected. That just confirmed her suspicions that there had been something going on, that the true leaders of the Anglians had escaped somehow and would return to cause trouble eventually. Still, there was enough loot to satisfy her karls, along with the land that they would now have to defend, and the thralls that would work the land or get sold to make up for the loot that had been removed.

Meg divided the land in principle between the karls, and then set the thralls to the unenviable task of corpse disposal. Not that the thralls were left to their task alone; Sam and Dean both helped with the digging, which seemed to earn them some acquiescence and complaisance. In the meantime, some of Meg’s soldiers were sent back to camp to dismantle the tents and bring people’s personal belongings and the thralls who had already been taken.

Rowena was assigned a small house near the church, but she seemed to prefer to hang around the brothers. Given the naked hatred with which the Anglian prisoners regarded her, Meg supposed she could understand that.

The next day, Sam, Dean and Rowena all showed up at Meg’s new hall to discuss the issue of the prisoners. If Sam felt a little uneasy at the prospect of being in the place where he’d suffered so much in the past, he stayed quiet about it. His eyes refused to settle on any one place, and he couldn’t keep still at all, but he stayed focused on the conversation at hand.

Meg seated them at the huge table in the middle of the main room. It wasn’t all that different from home after all, even though at home this would be the only room. Well, she didn’t mind having the additional privacy; it would allow her to bring karls and bondsmen under her roof.  Sometimes foreigners had good ideas, things that she could steal.

The brothers and their witch seated themselves. “I think we’re all in agreement that something’s missing,” Meg began, seating herself at the head of the table without ceremony. “The most senior Anglians are all missing, and everyone knows the Anglians are obsessed with some mystical anointing process. They think the gods declared one of them king, and to depose him would be sacrilege.”

“No wonder they hate you so much, Sammy,” Dean grinned, nudging Sam’s arm with his shoulder. Meg couldn’t have gotten a piece of parchment between the brothers. “You took out their king and his successor in the space of what, twenty minutes?”

“Fifteen.” Sam didn’t smile. “They’re not given to challenging the status quo. I know Castiel, the one who seemed to be leading them. I don’t know the other three.”

“Inias, Ion, and Samandriel.” Dean had brought a goblet of mead; he drank from it now. “Inias isn’t so bad.  Samandriel is young, probably too young to be out here like this. Ion…” He grimaced. “He’s never been my favorite, I don’t mind telling you that.”

“But he obeyed Castiel. What do we know about Blue-Eyes there?” Rowena glanced between them, hands folded on the table.

“We know he’s got pretty eyes and that he’s smarter than a lot of his compatriots,” Meg retorted.

“’Pretty?’” Sam quoted. “Okay. Well, how about this. We know that he was left in charge of the garrison defending Haven. I remember him from my time here before, and while he wasn’t the worst guy he definitely was a good soldier. He didn’t question orders. He had a lot of faith in his superiors and in the priesthood.” He quirked up half a grin. “I doubt captivity is sitting well with him.”

Meg let a little grin trail across her face. “I can work with that. What about the others?”

Dean shook his head. “Cas would have been the one in charge. They’ll follow his lead.”

Meg nodded. “So we focus on him. If we don’t get anywhere with him, we work on them.”

Rowena shook her head a little. “It’s not that I disagree with you, oh great queen. I just think that his subordinates probably know more about their leader than they think they do, no?” She sat back in her chair, ever so slightly. “By all means, work your wiles on the blue-eyed wonder, but perhaps let Dean or your pet Jotun here have a wee small chat with the underlings as well.”

Sam glowered at the _seidkona_ , but she smiled sweetly back at him and batted her lashes.  “She’s right,” Sam said. “One of them might have figured out where Raphael and the others got to, at the very least.”

Meg nodded. “Alright. Dean, you go have a chat with Samandriel. Sam, you and your little friend there can go chat with Ion. I’ll talk with Castiel myself.”


	2. Chapter 2

Meg didn’t expect much when she went into her first meeting with Castiel. She went into the dungeon and found his cell easily, even though she’d never been here before. There were only so many cells, after all, and so many options for a cell that could possibly contain Castiel.

The leader looked up when Meg entered the cell, and his eyes narrowed. “If you’re thinking of trying to overpower me and escape, I’d recommend that you reconsider,” Meg advised. “It’s your choice, but you wouldn’t get far.”

Castiel snorted in disdain. “I have honor,” he told her. “More than the last person to sit in this cell.”

She raised an eyebrow. “So this was Sam’s cell, when he was your guest.”

Castiel had the good grace to look away. “What are your intentions for me and my men? For the people of Anglia? How is it that the town yet stands?”

Meg shook her head and bit her lip, trying to hold back a snicker at his formal language. “The town stands, Castiel, because we didn’t come here to burn it down.” When he squinted at her in confusion, she stopped trying to hold back her laughter. “Okay.  Is that really what they told you about us? That all we do is descend, burn and pillage, and then leave again? Please. Anglia is mine now. I’ll probably call my kingdom something else, but you know. Details, right?” She walked around the small room, keeping her eyes on him.

Castiel composed his face quickly. “And the people?”

“They were your serfs. They’ll have more freedom as thralls, most likely. Some will be sold, of course. Especially since your friends were so rude as to take most of their treasure and go hide somewhere like the lily-livered cowards that they are.” She grinned at him. “I don’t suppose that you’d care to share where they went, now, would you?”

Her prisoner scowled and turned his face away. “I don’t know what you mean.”

She grabbed his chin and forced him to look at her. He resisted, but she was stronger than she looked. All those years of swinging a sword had done their job. “I think you do, Castiel. You were left here, in your lord’s hall, to guard Haven. I know damn well that they didn’t leave you behind as the new King of Anglia.”

His jaw set. “I have nothing to say.”

She gave a little laugh, the kind that had most men eating out of her hand in a matter of seconds. He wasn’t going to lie outright and pretend that he’d been anointed the king of Anglia, which would have been blasphemy. At the same time, he wasn’t going to say anything that might reveal his lord’s hiding place either. “Oh, Castiel.” She patted his cheek, just this side of gentle. “By the time I’m done with you, you’ll tell me everything.”

“You do plan to resort to torture then.” His back stiffened.

She threw her head back and laughed again. “You Anglians must get off on that. It keeps coming up around you people. First Sam, now this. I don’t usually need to resort to anything of the sort.” She moved closer to him, getting right up into his space. “No – when I take you apart, the only screaming you’ll do is out of pleasure.”

Castiel gulped. “Are your people so irreligious that you would stoop so low?”

“What, as to enjoy sex?”

“With a man who is not your husband?”

Meg stepped back, laughing again. “Oh, Castiel. Don’t ever change. Tell me. Where did Raphael and the others go?”

“No.”

“Why are you protecting them? They’ve certainly done you no favors. They’ve left you here to rot. Considering what they did to Sam, they’re surely expecting that you’ll suffer as he did.” She folded her arms over her chest.

“Raphael is my king, anointed with holy oil and duly appointed by God Himself. He assigned me to stay here and protect his retreat, so stay I will. A pagan like you can never hope to understand.” Castiel tilted his head to the side.

“Oh, we understand loyalty.” Meg pressed her lips together. “For example, we get that it works both ways. We don’t expect our subordinates to sacrifice their lives so we can get away and sit around in happy, shiny safety.”

“His Majesty will return and avenge me, no matter what you and your tribe of monsters do to me.” Castiel sat down and put his back against the wall.

Meg sneered down at him. “Oh, that’s cute.  You really believe that, don’t you?” She walked toward the doorway. “Feel free to come back and take your ‘I told you so’ when that shackle grows into your ankle, Castiel.”

She had other things that she needed to work on, like dealing with crops and land allocations.  The servant who had been the cook for Raphael turned up, apparently willing enough to continue in his job so long as he was not a slave. Meg agreed to his terms, so long as the new freeman was willing to live by her laws, and dinner was prepared.

After dinner, she sent for the brothers and their pet witch, intent on discussing the results of their interviews with the prisoners.  Meg reported her conversation with Castiel right away, prompting giggles from both brothers. “What’s so funny?” she demanded, hands on her hips.

“It’s just – well, Cas always had a stick up his ass about things like that,” Dean explained, waving a hand. “He grew up in a monastery or something. It’s just kind of hilarious because he truly believes that everyone truly does wait until marriage, and all of that. He’s kind of innocent. And then along comes you.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “He knows better than _that_. But yeah. It was probably a lot like getting hit in the face by a bucket of ice water.” He snickered. “Can’t think of someone who deserves it more.”

“Be nice,” Dean chided.

“I am.” Sam turned back to Meg. “This is something we can use to our advantage, though.”

Meg nodded, stroking her chin. “Yeah.  The monastery thing gives me an idea. The toad priest Zachariah is among the missing, isn’t he?”

“There’s a monastery not too far from here,” Rowena chimed in. “Reachable by boat, too. Not that anyone asked me, but you know. Just thought I’d make a contribution. Since I’m here, and all.”

Both brothers glowered at her. “Is there now?” Meg grinned. “Let’s see if we can work on that.”

She let Castiel stew in his own hope and faith for a few more days. She didn’t completely discount the notion that the deposed king of Anglia would return for his kingdom. After all, if she’d been chased from her land with her tail between her legs, she’d come back as soon as she could. She made sure that the walls got reinforced, and that the hidden escape route got blocked up.

For the most part, however, she paid attention to establishing the kingdom. She might want to return to the commander’s cell, might want to muss all that dark hair and see if she couldn’t redirect all of that quiet intensity to a better use, but that was a long-term campaign. She’d lose if she pushed too far too fast, and Meg hated to lose.

At the end of the week, she returned to Castiel’s cell with some clean clothes and a washbasin for him. “I thought you might appreciate the change,” she offered. She tried for neutral, but the best she got was “mild smirk.” “It’s been a little while and your clothes weren’t exactly clean when you came in here.”

He regarded the garments with a dubious gaze. “What are these heathen markings?”

She rolled her eyes. “They’re a decoration, dumbass. We like them on our clothes. They make them less boring. Don’t think we had those specially made for you; they’re hand-me-downs. I think you probably know the previous owner. His name is Dean.”

Castiel’s face relaxed. “He is a righteous man, despite persisting in ignorance.”

Meg leaned against the wall. “Go ahead and get cleaned up. You reek.”

Her prisoner blushed. “I am not accustomed to appearing naked before women.”

She snickered. “So don’t undress fully. Be discreet. You must have done so where you were raised, in that monastery.”

Castiel froze. “How do you know about that?”

She snorted. “I have both of the brothers working for me, Castiel. You saw them fighting by my side. Don’t insult my intelligence. Go on, get cleaned up. If I have to tell you again I’ll call Sam to do it, and you won’t like that.” Sam wouldn’t harm Castiel, even if he wanted to; that was the difference between Sam and his former captors. Castiel didn’t know that, though, and Meg was more than happy to use that information against him. “Good boy.”

“Alright,” Castiel sighed, removing his tunic and washing his chest and face. “Yes. I was raised in a monastery.”

“That must have been interesting.” She didn’t bother to hide her admiration of his toned muscles.

“I appreciated the routine.” Castiel glared at her. “It wasn’t so bad. I knew what to do and when to do it. There was a time for everything. Time for morning prayers, time for chores, time for reading and for study. There were no shades of gray.”

She nodded. “Good and bad.”

“Right and wrong.” He drew Dean’s borrowed tunic over himself before removing his lower garments, much to her chagrin. “There was no temptation at all. I liked that.”

“So you do feel temptation.”

“Of course.” He closed his eyes and sighed, pausing in his ablutions for just a moment. “I am tempted to anger, which is a deadly sin. I am tempted to pride, which is likewise a sin.”

She stepped closer. “And lust?”

He let out a high-pitched whine. “Rarely, but yes.”

Meg laughed in a soft voice. “Excellent.” She stepped back from him. “I’m sure you’ve noticed that your King hasn’t returned.”

Castiel dried himself off and pulled on the pants with which he’d been provided. “He will.”

“Were you close?”

“King Raphael would never abandon his people like you say. He can’t. He is sealed to his people when he is consecrated to them, at his coronation. It’s a sacred oath.” He turned to face her before dunking his hair into the basin.

She waited for him to stand back up. In a way, she felt kind of bad for him. It would hurt, when the truth hit him. “Perhaps it would be sacred, if it were you who had been crowned. I don’t think that Raphael takes it as seriously as you do. Otherwise how would he feel about the fact that I’ve already sent a load of thralls off to Rus for sale?”

Castiel gasped. “You’ve what? How could you?”

She shrugged. “They were unwilling to live under my rule, and it’s not as though I needed them.  I’ve been willing to let those willing to live our way stay; they have more freedom than they did as Saxon serfs and slaves, that’s for certain. They weren’t willing to live at peace with pagans, and we certainly weren’t willing to live with those kind of weasels in our nest, so they had to go.”  She raised an eyebrow at him. “You’d have preferred that I killed them?”

“I’d prefer that you all went away.”

She stroked his cheek. “No, you wouldn’t.”

“I really would.”

Meg laughed at him. “You say that. Part of you might even mean it. The truth is, Castiel, you’re already starting to question what you were told by Raphael and your other superiors. They told you that we would slaughter and burn and rape our way through the village, and we’ve done none of those things. They told you that if you were captured you’d be tortured, much as you tortured your own captives for nothing but your superiors’ enjoyment. That hasn’t happened either. The only thing you can say actually happened is what _I_ told you. You’ve been abandoned by your king. All that’s left for you is us.”

“No.” He turned his face away. “I’m loyal. I won’t turn away from my people.”

She laughed a little. “They’ve already turned away from you, Castiel.”

Meg left the cell. She could feel Cas’ eyes on her as she walked.

She visited him a few times over the next couple of weeks, although she tried to keep her visits brief. She wanted to know more about the monastery where he had spent his youth, but he seemed to know that this was her angle and steered away from details. She had to give him credit. He might be blind to the faults of his king and country, but he was certainly smart.

He got used to having her in his presence, too. He clearly hadn’t been used to interacting with women in any way. From what the brothers and Rowena told Meg, this was normal. The Saxons had become accustomed to segregating their genders since they adopted the Eastern God, although Castiel’s upbringing took this tendency to an extreme. More frequent contact helped to ease his shock at her presence, her power in her community, and she took full advantage.

She also never failed to point out that his king still hadn’t com for him. Initially, she had suspected that Raphael might have gone to one of the other Saxon kingdoms on the island, to Mercia perhaps, but if that had been the case she surely would have heard about it by now.  Instead, she had to suspect that he’d holed up in a monastery somewhere, possibly the same one that had housed Castiel throughout his childhood.

The thought angered her. Castiel had been so willing to lay down his own life to help his monarch with the expectation of loyalty in return; how could a king worth the word not care about his bondsmen?

Two months after the initial capture of Anglia, Meg went to Castiel with news. “It seems your little friend Ion decided to escape.”

Castiel smirked at her. “If you’ve had him shackled to the wall the way you’ve had me, that shouldn’t have been possible. Perhaps you have a traitor in your midst.”

Meg patted him on the head. “You know, we thought of that. We really did. We decided to use our resident _seidkona_ , though, and we figured out pretty quickly that what actually happened was that he took advantage of a loose bolt that was holding the shackle to the wall. Not a big deal; we’re already getting someone to fix it. But he didn’t come here to rescue you, Castiel.”

Castiel swallowed, hard. “That’s fine. He probably thinks that I’m dead anyway.”

“But he doesn’t.” She took his hand, and he didn’t pull it away. “Inias and Samandriel both have faith in you, Castiel. Ion does not. He escaped, went over the wall to a small rowboat that he already had hidden away.”

Castiel couldn’t hide the horror from his eyes, even though he tried to turn away. “This was planned.” His voice was barely audible.

“Yes. He always planned to flee. And you and whoever was left with you were always intended to die.” She squeezed his hand. “Now, that rowboat wasn’t intended to go far, love.”

He shook his head. “No. A small craft like that can’t have gone far.”

She looked at his face and bit her tongue. There was so much else that she could have said.  She could have brought up everything else that Sam and Rowena had scryed out with their magic, like the fact that Ion was intended to return to Haven to make it look like he’d been ambushed.  Or that they’d already found the location of the monastery, they only wanted Castiel’s cooperation now. Instead, she bent down and touched her lips lightly to his. “Would you like to tour the town? See what changes we’ve made with your own eyes? That way you won’t have to depend on my word. You can make your own choices.”

He hesitated. Even after all this time, he still hesitated. In the end, though, he nodded. “I think that’s best.” He stood. “Must I be shackled?”

“Will you give me your word not to try to attack any of my people, or try to run off yourself?”

He offered her a rueful grin, endearing in its way. “I have nowhere to go.” Then he took a deep breath and sobered. “You have my word.”

Meg took him by the hand and led him around the main town. He winced a little at the thought of the Anglian temple becoming a private hall, never mind the home to someone like Sam, but he confined his remarks to the health of the peasantry and kept moving. Meg applauded his discretion.

After his tour she brought him back to her house for dinner, where they were joined by the brothers and Rowena. Rowena sniffed a little, and Sam didn’t speak much, but no one objected outright and they all got through the meal civilly.

When the meal was finished, Meg led Castiel back to her room. He paused at the threshold, but then he shook his head and crossed over. She kissed him there. “We have so much to offer you, Castiel,” she promised.

His eyes seemed shadowed, but he ran his pink tongue over his chapped lips. “I must speak to Samandriel and Inias first, but Meg – I want to join.”

She nodded, and kissed him again. They knew where they stood, and she respected a leader who showed concern for his men. She’d want the same.

For someone who had been so isolated from women for so much of his life, Castiel seemed to know what to do with his mouth.  Maybe it was instinct, or maybe the boys at the monastery hadn’t had their minds as strictly on their prayers as they claimed. He was no passive kisser, but showed himself as eager to taste as to be tasted. He explored with his hands too, tentatively at first and then more boldly as Meg’s own exploration encouraged him.

They got one another out of their tunics at about the same time, and Meg ran her hand over the smooth muscles she’d only been able to steal glances of before. For his part, Castiel seemed to want to taste more than anything else. He couldn’t keep his mouth off of her neck, her chest, her breasts. She certainly wasn’t going to complain. He might lack finesse, but that would come in time. He made up for it with enthusiasm and raw talent; his tongue had a kind of nimbleness that she’d rarely seen anywhere else.

She could feel his cock, hard and proud inside his baggy trousers, and she stroked along outside the cloth for a while. She knew it left him aching, but it got the most delightful little sounds out of him and she couldn’t resist. After a while, though, she had to have them both naked, a plan that he couldn’t object to. She stripped them both quickly and efficiently, and wrestled him so that he was lying on his back on her bed. “Are you ready for this, Castiel?” she asked him.

He nodded, a sheen of sweat glistening on his skin. “Please, Meg.”

She smiled, just a tiny little bit. “Alright.  Hold on.” She climbed up on top of Castiel, straddling him, and sank down slowly onto him.

For a moment, she thought she might have killed him. He froze completely, eyes wide and mouth frozen into a perfect “o.” Then, just when she started to worry that she might need to call for help and explain this, he let out a long, low groan of pleasure. “Oh, Meg.”

She relaxed and sent off a quick mental prayer of thanks to whatever gods might happen to be listening. Then she started to move. Once Castiel figured out that a rhythm was a good thing to have, he moved too, hands on her hips to help hold her steady as they ground themselves toward completion.

Castiel’s eyes were glued to her, so she licked her lips and snaked her hand in between her legs to find her clit. Some guys hated that, wanted to think that they were enough to get someone off no matter what, but Castiel wouldn’t know enough to have his masculinity threatened by something like this. With Meg helping herself along, it didn’t take long before they were both coming, and Meg collapsed in a happy, sated heap across Castiel’s chest.

“Is it always like that?” Castiel asked her, wrapping an arm around her and holding her close.

She kissed his cheek. “It’s different every time,” she promised. “If you do it right, though, it’s always good.”

“How do I know if I’m doing it right?”

“Just pay attention to your partner. If they feel good, and you feel good, you’re probably doing it right.”

He kissed her then, and as they fell asleep in one another’s arms she thought to herself, “I could get used to this.”

The next day they cleaned up and she took him to visit his remaining men. He impressed her with his honesty. “Inias, Samandriel, I know this will appall you, but it turns out that we’ve been betrayed. Our king has abandoned us. We were left here to die – abandoned, so that he could make his escape. He will not come back for us. Ion was working with him the whole time. He’s escaped; he had his escape planned ever since Jarl – excuse me, Queen Meg took Anglia.

“She’s offered us the opportunity to join with them, to turn our swords against our former masters and exact revenge. I’ve resisted for this long, but when I learned of Ion’s perfidy I couldn’t resist. She has shown me her fairness toward her people, and toward those Anglians willing to abide under Viking rule. I believe that as free men under her protection, as warriors in her ranks, we will be better served and better valued than ever we were under Raphael.”

Inias and Samandriel exchanged glances. Then Samandriel stood up, his long chain clanking as he rose. “Sir, I’ve been happy to fight under you since I was a page.  I’m happy to continue to do so. You’ve never steered me wrong before.” Meg held her tongue on that; he certainly had steered Samandriel wrong, he’d led them under Raphael, but she supposed he could hardly be blamed for following the dictates of tradition. After all, now that he was confronted with reality he was willing enough to change. “I’ll stay with you.”

“As will I.” Inias had paled at the news of Ion’s betrayal, but now he recovered his color. “Our service was always based on the idea that we would be protected. We weren’t.”

“You will now, just as any of my men.” Meg held out a hand to the others. “You’ll be free to exercise your faith, so long as it doesn’t interfere with others’ exercise of theirs.”

“That’s all anyone can ask, Lady.” Inias bowed.

Sam brought in the key, and while both men flinched at the sight of the man they’d only known as an abomination they said nothing as he released them from their chains. Castiel went so far as to offer Sam a hand to shake, which Sam accepted after a moment.

Meg felt like she’d accomplished something.

While one of Meg’s karls helped find housing and equipment for Inias and Samandriel, Castiel accompanied Meg upstairs to her hall and outlined for her and the brothers where he thought that the more senior Anglian nobility would have gone. “Ion, assuming that he was working with them and not for some other wretched party, would have gone directly to the ones holding his leash. Since he only had a rowboat, he couldn’t have gone far. I can only think of one place, and that is the Monastery of the Queen of Heaven.”

Sam met his eyes. “The one where you grew up.”

Dean looked at Sam. “Why do you know that?” Then he rolled his eyes and shook his head.  “Don’t answer that; I don’t care. Why would Raphael go there?”

Castiel gave a thin little smile, a marked contrast to the one he’d worn the night before. “Well, for starters the abbot is a good friend of his. For another, it is accessible only by boat, and not many people know about it.”

Meg leaned forward on her hands. “Well, we’re in that number now. Aren’t we?”


	3. Chapter 3

The Monastery of the Queen of Heaven stood on an island just off the coast, far enough that reaching it took planning and effort but close enough that it could be seen from land if the day were clear.  Meg didn’t quite get it, but she didn’t get a lot of things about the whole arrangement.  Why name a facility exclusively for men, in which men were taught (from everything she’d seen and heard) to hate and fear women, after a woman?  Why raise boys apart from girls and women, and teach them to fear girls and women, and then turn around and expect them to marry women?

The Eastern God’s followers had sent a missionary among Meg’s people once.  Meg had asked him some of these questions.  He couldn’t answer them, and he’d accused her of “impudence” when she pointed out that he didn’t have answers.  So she’d cut off his head.

The approach to the monastery could not be made by large vessels.  The monks lived in small huts, and kept only small fires, and they believed that this would keep them safe.  So far, it probably had.  At the very least, the currents and shallow waters around the island had kept them safe.  No one was going to risk everything to attack what looked like a bunch of cowshit huts with nothing to their name but a couple of sickly-looking cows to make more building material from.  The Viking vessels, however, navigated very well in shallow water, and now that they knew that there was something of value on these islands they would stop at nothing to get it.

Besides, they had more than just silver and jewels on that island now.  They had Anglians that had earned Meg’s ire.  No shallow water could save them now.

She’d brought half of her men with her, leaving the rest behind to defend Haven just in case.  She was greedy, yes, and sometimes overeager.  But she was not foolish, not when it came to her land or her people.

Castiel sailed with her.  His eyes looked almost gray as they reflected the sea, and she couldn’t help but worry about what must be going through his head.   _Meg_ was going to hunt down some snooty Anglians who had thwarted her.   _Castiel_ was going to face down people he’d been taught to respect and revere since he’d been a little boy.  Surely he must be feeling something, some kind of regret or anxiety.  None of it showed on his face, if he felt it at all.  Instead he watched the island loom closer in the distance.

Rowena and Sam sailed in the same ship, Rowena seated beside Sam and simpering while he directed the men rowing his ship.  There had to be something going on there, although Meg couldn’t quite figure out what.  They didn’t seem at all affectionate, but Rowena showed a reluctance to be apart from the oversized jarl and Sam tolerated her.  Maybe it was a _seidr_ thing, who knew.  Dean rode in the same boat, because where you had one brother you couldn’t not have the other.  Dean just looked hungry, as he always did before a battle.

Rowena had more of a point than just simpering beside Sam and looking pretty.  Maybe Sam could have hidden their approach by himself, but Meg didn’t think his talents (if he indeed flirted with _seidr_ at all) carried him so far.  Rowena’s job was to minimize the likelihood that anyone from the monastery would notice their arrival, and she seemed to be doing well at her task.  The Vikings were up on the beach, pulling their ships up onto the sand, before anyone picked up on the fact that they’d arrived.  Even then, they seemed to notice more because Castiel set fire to the rowboats moored to their rickety old dock than because the Vikings themselves had done anything to alert them.

Now, of course, all need for stealth died away.  Meg had made her orders explicit.  Any children, regardless of status, were to be spared.  Any regular monk who had not taken up arms could be spared, at least temporarily.  Combatants were to be slaughtered without mercy, although Raphael, Uriel, Ion and Zachariah were to be brought to Meg.  Higher noblewomen, if any were to be found, were to be captured alive if noncombatant and brought to Meg.

The monastery itself was to be burned to ash.  They would find a way to transport the livestock and food stores off the island, but they would not leave anything remaining of this place of treachery.

The fight, such as it was, turned out to be nasty, brutish and short.  The noblemen who had fled with Raphael tried to defend their king, but Meg’s Vikings had fought in similar close quarters many times.  The noble Saxons were accustomed only to fighting in fields and on bridges; fighting in narrow corridors was alien to them, and they were at a disadvantage.

Many of the churchmen preferred to die rather than to see their beloved monastery put to the torch.  Meg and her men were happy to oblige them.  When Castiel tried to convince them that it was better to live and build a new house somewhere else, someplace that was free of Zachariah’s poison, they spat on him.

After the first two made such a statement, Meg started chopping off heads.  They preferred to make a verbal statement after that.  Even though they claimed they preferred to die rather than surrender their monastery, they apparently still believed that someone would intervene and save them before the end came.  That didn’t work out very well for them, but a few toward the end did reconsider their position.

Most of the boys did not share the older monks’ suicidal wishes.  They were perfectly happy to go and live in Anglia, among thrall families, and work the land.  Perhaps their status would be less exalted than it would have been otherwise, but they could live with that.  Meg held back a few of the older boys, identified by Castiel as in training as he’d been, and decided to put them to work as pages and squires in her house instead of making them farmers.  She saw no point in wasting the training they’d had, and they could prove valuable allies down the road.

The most significant confrontations came when their quintet came to deal with the major enemies: Raphael and the others.  Two big, burly Vikings brought Ion forward first.  The traitor fell to his knees before the gang of five, trembling but with a snarl on his face.  “What did you expect me to do, Castiel?” he growled.  “When they came to me and told me to make sure you stayed behind and followed your orders, what do you expect me to do?”

Castiel didn’t answer him, except to snarl, so Meg gave a little laugh.  “I really ought to thank you, you know.  If you hadn’t run off, hadn’t shown yourself for the traitor you are, I’d never have gotten Castiel to admit that his king had betrayed him.  Betrayed his oath to his own liege men.”  She smirked and patted Ion insultingly on the cheek.

“He’s the traitor.  His job was to die!”

Meg rolled her eyes and stabbed Ion in the neck.  “You can stick him in the pit with the others,” she told his burly escorts.  “How are we coming with finding the treasure Raphael carried off?”

“Oh, the monks who came over to us have been very forthcoming, Majesty.”  The guard holding Ion’s right arm gave a toothless grin.  “We’ve got someone loading it onto the ships already.”

“I like that.  Forward thinking.  Remind me that was you, Ragnar.”

The men dragged the corpse away, leaving a trail of blood in his wake.   They were replaced by two more, who carried a struggling Zachariah.  Meg knew that he was Zachariah because he wore a monk’s robes, and because Dean gave him a huge grin.  Someone who didn’t know him better would have thought he really was being friendly.  “Zachariah!  Good to see you again!  How’ve you been, man?”

Zachariah gave him a thin-lipped smile.  Meg settled back on her heels to watch this exchange play out.  Castiel looked uneasy, looking between the brothers, but he couldn’t know anything really about the pair.  Sam’s nostrils flared, and Rowena put a hand on Sam’s arm.  “Dean.  It’s good to see a rational person here, someone with whom I can do business.  I mean I understand that you were born among savages but you’ve had the benefit of exposure to higher culture.”

Dean laughed out loud.  “I’m going to give you a little bit of advice here, Zach.  Shut up.”

Zachariah shut up.

“Now, here’s the thing, Zach,” Dean continued, pacing around the captive.  “I don’t know if you remember way back to when my brother – you remember him, big guy, not a big fan of Anglians these days but can you blame him?  You spent a lot of time, back then, trying to split us up.  Said a lot of crap.  Some of it I even believed, Zach.”  Suddenly Dean was in Zachariah’s face, moving faster than even Meg’s practiced eye could follow.  “Do you remember what I told you, Zach?”

“Dean, you have to understand.  I was just doing my job.”

Dean gave him the most terrifying smile that Meg had ever seen in her life.  “And I’m just doing mine.  Do you remember what I told you, when I figured out what a line of crap you and your buddy Michael were feeding me?”

Zachariah’s face darkened.  “Michael was a king, you maggot!”

Dean backhanded him so hard that he only stayed upright because two Vikings were holding him up.  The guards laughed out loud, but there was no humor in Dean’s face as he pulled Zachariah up by his collar.  “I told you that I would stab you in your face.”

“You would dare to raise a hand to a man of the cloth – an abbot?”   Zachariah had the temerity to look affronted.

Sam’s eyes looked a little glazed.  “You’re not an abbot, jackass.  You’re a bishop in hiding.  You couldn’t live by monastic rules if you tried.  Which you don’t.”  He blinked and his eyes cleared.  “Also, trust me.  Whatever it is – Dean dares.”  He smirked, but didn’t tear his eyes away.

Meg, though, had to look away when Dean carried out his promise.  Even with everything she’d seen and done, that was a little much.

The guards carried him away just as they had Ion, and two more popped up in their place with Uriel between them.  Uriel neither cowered nor shrank from their gaze.  He sneered in contempt, and both of his guards seemed to be a little warier of him than the previous guards had needed to be.  “Castiel.  It would figure that you’re up to your elbows in this.”

No one questioned Sam’s right to step up, although both Dean and Rowena hovered nearby.  Meg wasn’t sure about Rowena’s motivations, though.  She might have been there just to thrive on Uriel’s death throes, or on Sam’s rage, who knew with her.  He stepped to the front of the crowd and the whole crowd of spectators – captive monks, children and Vikings alike – fell silent.

Uriel stood a little straighter and tried to shake off his guards.  When Sam gave them a subtle nod, they released their prisoner and took half a step back.  “I am not afraid of you, Abomination.”

Sam met his eyes, showing nothing.  “I don’t care.”

“Is this about revenge?”  Uriel smirked.  “It’s not like you can undo what we did.”

“Nope.”  Sam hefted his sword in his right hand.

“You’re subhuman.  We aren’t even obligated to offer you the opportunity for salvation.”

“Nope.”

“We will turn you into dust.”

Uriel’s eyes bulged in their sockets and blood streamed from his mouth.  Sam had kept his enemy distracted with his big sword, but his left hand had strayed to his belt knife and he’d slipped it into Uriel’s throat with no more fanfare than he would have patting him on the shoulder.

The large Anglian clutched at his neck, and then fell to the ground.  His guards didn’t bother trying to pick him up again.  They just dragged him out by his feet.

Now came the last of the captives: Raphael.  Raphael came before them with more dignity than Zachariah or Ion, but with a different sort of arrogance than Uriel.  This was a man who had been raised with the knowledge that his very blood gave him shades of the divine.  He’d never expected to succeed to the throne, nor had he been educated or reared to power.  Still, he knew that he was “special,” and even in such circumstances as he now found himself he held himself to be superior.

“So, Castiel,” he intoned.  “You have thrown your lot in with this rabble instead of following your orders.”

“My orders,” Castiel intoned, not moving a muscle, “were to defend Anglia.  I have not yet failed in those orders.  The people of Anglia are well ruled, under their new Queen.”

Raphael bristled.  “I am their King!  Anointed by God!”

“You abrogated your responsibility when you cared more for your treasure than for your people.”  Castiel’s sword gave a very soft “snick” as it slid from its sheath.

Raphael either didn’t hear or didn’t care.  “They are mine to destroy or save!  Do you think that Michael or Lucifer would have had it otherwise?”

Castiel chuckled.  “I don’t.  You know, I wondered.  For years, when they caught someone they defined as a witch, I wondered, but I obeyed.  And then I was freed.”

Raphael gave him a look that was best described as “pitying.”  “Oh, come now, Castiel.  You’re a good soldier, but you’re nothing more.  You’ll do as you’re told.  I’m your king, duly anointed.  I’m the heir to Michael, given that the Abomination murdered Lucifer alongside him.  You’re angry.  You’re hurt.  But you can’t lift a hand against me.”

Castiel raised his sword.  He moved once, efficient and brutal and struck the useless king’s head from his shoulders.

Castiel staggered away from the scene of the execution, leaving his sword behind him.  Meg followed, leaving her lieutenants to lean up after her.

She followed her lover into the chapel, which had not yet been put to the torch.  Castiel sank to his knees before a carving of a man nailed to a pair of crossed beams, tears running down his face as much as the blood ran down his armor.  Meg let him have his moment before she approached, carding her fingers through his hair.  “You did the right thing,” she told him.

He didn’t look at her.  His wide eyes gazed straight at the cross.  “He was my king,” he whispered.  “Before.”

“And he did you wrong.  He did your people wrong,” she reminded him, grasping his hair and giving a little tug.

“Yes.  You’re my Queen now.  Aren’t you afraid?”

She laughed.  “No, Cas.  I’m not.  I’m not going to treat you or your people the way that Raphael did.”

He rose from his prayer and took her into his arms.  “Promise me.”

 

 


End file.
